Flags and our Heroes

This photograph is known as “the most reprinted photo in history.” Joseph Rosenthal, an Associated Press photographer, took the picture on February 23, 1945 on the Pacific island of Iwo Jima. The battle for control of this tiny island was one of the most horrific invasions in modern history. After only five days of all out warfare against 22,000 entrenched Japanese soldiers, U.S. Marine “Easy Company,” and the Divisions of which they were a part, suffered nearly five thousand casualties. Rosenthal took this photograph at the summit of Mt. Suribachi, the highest point on the island, while six young Marines raised the U.S. flag. The picture was wired back to New York and became an instant sensation in newspapers across the country. It captured the nation’s attention, awakened America’s sense of pride in our fighting forces, galvanized our resolve to win the war, and provided comfort and meaning to those families who had lost their sons.

In this way, the photo served a great and worthy purpose.

Unfortunately, the photo does not tell the whole truth or the complete story. It was the symbol America needed at the time, but for the men who fought and died on Iwo Jima, especially the six men pictured in the photo, the flag raising and the attention it ruthlessly focused on them, was something else. America needed heroes, so we made heroes of Ira Hayes, Franklin Sousley, John Bradley, Mike Strank, Rene Gagnon, and Harlon Block. These six young men became the unwitting and sometimes unwilling symbols of our national pride; they found the task to be a brutal calling.

Symbols, while important, are almost always larger than life. Reality is messier, more complicated, and usually a little disappointing. For these boys, the heroism bestowed on them was an uncomfortable fit. They were boys – not one of them was over the age of 25. Not one of them knew how to deal with the trauma of war nor the triumph of celebrity. In the preceding five days before the flag raising, they had fought for their lives, suffered battle wounds, and watched many of their friends die violent deaths. On that auspicious February morning they were numb with the stuff of real war. Their thoughts were not occupied with triumph, but with death, blood, hunger, grief, and utter fatigue.

What happened to these six boys after that day was not a pretty picture. Mike Strank and Harlan Block died the next day in the continuing battle for the island. Franklin Sousley died four weeks later from Japanese sniper fire, still defending Iwo Jima. Only three of the six flag raisers survived. Soon after the photo became famous, they were shipped to the United States and spent the rest of their military careers traveling the country, making public appearances in front of thousands of adoring fans.

The mass attention they received was not the blessing nor the glory we presume. They struggled constantly between public adulation and private anguish, the result of battle trauma and grief. Ira Hayes died on January 24, 1955, ten years later, an aimless and impoverished alcoholic. He was found frozen on the ground, outside a friend’s home, dead from exposure to the elements. Rene Gagnon died on October 12, 1979, of a heart attack, at his janitor job. He was the only man of the three who had seemed to enjoy the limelight; but in fact he was pushed in front of the microphones and cameras by his attention-seeking wife. The fame brought him only one consistent reward: marital strife. Three days before his death, his 32-year-old son admonished him to “resolve” things with his wife Pauline, to which he replied, “I have no answers. There is no way out. There is no escape.”

John Bradley, in the middle of the photo, was the only one of the six men who lived out his remaining life with some normalcy. He moved back to his home town, married, and built a funeral home business. Through the years he loved his wife, raised his children, and lived in the same small community. After the war he rarely spoke about his celebrity. He refused to talk to reporters. Why? One wonders. He only gave one clue for his distain for the public eye: the pain of losing his friends, and celebrity from the photo were difficult burdens. He did not want to be depicted as a hero. He had only done his job, like every other soldier. After his death, his son James recounts the story of the flag raisers and of his father, in the book, Flags of our Fathers.

Are we disparaging these men by pointing out their weaknesses, their failures, their humanity? Absolutely not. On the contrary, we are honoring them more by dispelling the impossible myths of human heroism. These men were heroes; there is no doubt about that. But they weren’t the only heroes. They were six among 70,000 who fought at Iwo Jima. John Bradley, Ira Hayes and Rene Gagnon knew this to be true. The fact that our political and media leaders, and the general public, needed a symbol, and therefore made examples of these three boys, should not diminish the greater truth: Everyone who does his job, in the final tally, is equal. No one stands taller than the other. The three surviving flag raisers wished such honor could have been afforded to all their friends, especially to those who died in battle.

For both good and bad, our Christian culture is much like this story. We all want our heroes, and we look to our leaders to be that for us. We want them to be larger than life. But there are no “larger than life” heroes in the Kingdom of God. There are only servants, and all of us are flawed. Those who strive for the glory, or live in the light of public admiration, upon closer examination, are just like us.

True heroes in fact never exist in the lime light. Their heroism is measured, not by public praise, but in the trenches with their friends, doing a dirty job that must be done – without fanfare, without acknowledgement, without hope of reward. All a real hero needs is to be connected with his buddies, and to know he is serving a noble cause.

I’m tired of banner-waving Christianity where heroes become larger than life, where we worship personality over purpose, glitz over guts, and fame over friendship. No one can live up to the icons we create for ourselves; they are nothing more than false gods and man-made idols. Every one of them is fallible. Better to keep it real, serve faithfully, and stay focused on Jesus. At the end of the day, He is the only Flag we should be waving anyway.

We need more real Christianity, where our heroes live in every home, serve in every community, and stand for what is right in every quiet corner. They don’t need to be praised by the crowd. They don’t need a crowd at all. They don’t need a band playing behind them, or a chorus singing their introduction. Give them a great cause, one that will honor Jesus Christ and fulfill His purpose, give them a few friends for companionship and encouragement, and help them do their work, and they are satisfied and will get the job done.

Our missionaries are such people. We need many more of them. They’re not in it for the money or the glory. They didn’t go to get rich or to gain public praise. They serve only to make a difference in the world, even if that is in a far away place among unknown people. If more Christians and Christian leaders would live like missionaries the world would soon become a better place to live, and all of us would discover that Jesus, our only true Hero, rises adequately in our midst to lead the way for all of us. He, through our service, would draw the world to Himself.

Doug Gehman